


An Offer He Can't Refuse

by Cantatrice18



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adultery, Blackmail, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Not-so-secret relationships, Protectiveness, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-15 18:58:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8068930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cantatrice18/pseuds/Cantatrice18
Summary: Snape's unbreakable vow comes at a price and Narcissa, unable to pay any other way, offers herself in exchange. Faced with the choice of taking advantage of an unwilling woman or losing credibility among Voldemort's followers, Snape must find a way to save them both from disgrace and protect Narcissa and Draco from the Dark Lord's wrath, all without doing anything he might live to regret.





	1. The Proposition

The fiery knot faded from around their clasped hands, and the pair released one another as though they’d been burned. Narcissa looked down at her hand, still as pale as before the vow had been made. Nothing had changed, yet she knew deep down that the vow had taken effect. At her request, Snape had sworn to commit murder, rather than let her son come to any harm. She could hardly believe it. The mere thought made her spine tingle. That Snape, the Dark Lord’s right hand, would vow such a thing made her head spin. She looked up quickly at the wizard, but Snape’s attention was on her sister, who still wore an expression of immense dislike. “Are you satisfied, Bellatrix?” he asked, cold amusement in his voice. “Have I passed your test of loyalty?”

Bellatrix sneered at him, but said nothing. Turning on her heel, she stalked over to the chair and picked up her discarded cloak, throwing it over her shoulders with a quick, violent motion. “Come, Cissy,” she ordered. “There is nothing left for us to do here.”

Narcissa took an automatic step toward her sister, but paused and glanced back at the sallow man standing silently behind her. “A moment, Bella. Go home without me, please.”

Bellatrix glowered, looking from her sister to Snape and back. Snape smiled in his most condescending manner. “Go on, Bellatrix. I promise not to corrupt Narcissa after you leave.”

Bellatrix reddened, then glared at her sister. “If you aren’t at the manor in five minutes, I’m coming back to this filthy muggle hovel to get you.”

She stalked to the door, using her wand to undo the lock and chain, before stepping onto the doorstep and disapparating with a loud pop. 

“Possessive, isn’t she, your sister?” Snape remarked casually. He turned his attention to the woman in front of him, one eyebrow raised quizzically. “So, Narcissa. You have something to say to me? Another request, perhaps?”

Narcissa shook her head. “No, I—“ she could feel herself trembling, and tried to still her nerves. “I need to know what you want from me.”

Snape frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t understand you.”

“As payment,” Narcissa explained. “Your vow, your protection for my son, there must be something I can give you.”

She stepped closer to him, knowing what she had to do and hating herself for it. Reaching out, she took his hand in hers. He did not draw away, for which she was grateful. “I have very little to offer, as you doubtless know. My fortune is not mine to give, and my skills pale in comparison to your own. Only one thing remains.”

“Narcissa,” Snape interrupted, but she shook her head. “Please, listen. I have only myself to offer, in exchange for my son’s life.” She clasped his hand tighter, raising it and pressing it against her breast over her heart. “My body is yours, Severus, from now until the vow is complete. Do whatever you want to me, I won’t deny you. I have nothing more to give.”

She let her gaze drop to the floor and waited. For a long moment, Snape was silent and unmoving. Then, slowly, he raised his free hand and ran his fingers through her long hair. A quick glance upward through her lashes showed his face carefully composed to show no emotion. “I will let you know,” he said quietly.

Narcissa nodded, not trusting herself to speak. It was one thing to offer, but hearing him accept felt like a judge’s sentence. Yet the thought of her son sustained her and kept her from losing her nerve. If Snape could keep Draco safe, it would be worth any price. She stepped away, releasing his hand and watching his arms drop to his sides once more. As if in a trance, she collected her cloak and headed for the door. She paused on the threshold, looking back at Snape. “Thank you,” she murmured, voice thick with emotion.

Snape nodded. “Until we meet again, Narcissa.”

She opened the door and stepped out onto the doorstep. With a final look toward the dark-robed man, she spun on the spot and disappeared.


	2. The Outline of a Plan

“—don’t know what she expects to happen now.”

They were in the cozily lit Headmaster’s Office. The sky outside was dark, the sliver of moon obscured by clouds. Around them, the portraits of former Headmasters dozed peacefully. Dumbledore sat back in his chair, watching as the sallow man paced back and forth in front of him. “An interesting turn of events,” he commented lightly.

“Interesting?” barked Snape. “I’ve bound myself to commit a murder, and you call that interesting?”

“My dear Severus, you and I both know that my death is inevitable, and that any action on your part to speed my demise would be less a murder and more a mercy killing. But that was not what I was referring to.” He tapped his fingers together thoughtfully. “I wonder, what do you make of Narcissa’s proposal?”

Snape stared at him. “What do I—“ his features twisted into a pained expression. “Her desperation has made her foolish, reckless, to offer herself to me in that way. If anyone were to find out, it would endanger both of us.” 

“Would it?” Dumbledore remarked. “I wonder.”

Snape stopped pacing and looked at him sharply. “No…” he murmured. “You can’t possibly—I won’t do it.”

“Won’t do what?” Dumbledore asked calmly.

“You know ‘what’!” Snape cried, startling some of the portraits awake. “Not even for you Dumbledore. I refuse to take advantage of that woman in the feeble hope that she might provide some hint of information I have not already gleaned from the Dark Lord. It’s unthinkable.”

Dumbledore smiled at Snape with such warmth that the dark-haired man fell silent, looking wary. “You amaze me, Severus,” he said. “Each day you are surrounded by the worst sort of wizards, those who abuse and exploit for pleasure, who kill without thought. Yet despite that, your soul is untouched. It’s remarkable thing.” 

Snape said nothing, so Dumbledore stood, bracing his good hand on the desk for support. “I have no intention of forcing you on Narcissa,” he said, looking Snape in the eye. “I am not so crude as that. But something must be done about her. Sooner or later, her charming sister or Voldemort himself will discover that she made you the offer. She is not as talented an occlumens as you, and Voldemort doubtless seeks to humiliate the Malfoys in any way he can after Lucius’s failure at the Ministry. When that happens, it will place you in great danger. Death Eaters do not refuse offers like Narcissa’s. You will be suspect, unless it appears that you accepted her proposition.” Snape angrily opened his mouth to speak, but Dumbledore shook his head. “Notice, I did not say you had to accept, only that it should appear as though you had. But if it seemed as though you had taken her as your mistress, the situation would be entirely different. Do you understand?”

Snape was silent for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “It would be…challenging. It must appear genuine, even under close inspection. And she would be hurt, perhaps more than if we simply engaged in a tryst.”

“I trust you to arrange things properly. She will understand, when you explain it to her. And in the long run, it will serve both of you well. After all, Voldemort expects his followers to have vices.”


	3. Midnight at Spinner's End

Narcissa walked slowly down the lane, the boarded-up houses on either side casting deep shadows over her as she passed. Half the street lamps were dead or broken, leaving large patches of the road in total darkness. She drew her wand, allowing a beam of light to radiate from the end of it and guide her to a now-familiar doorstep. Tucking the wand back into the pocket of her cloak, her fingers closed on a small piece of parchment. She shivered and drew her hand away, reaching out and knocking quietly on the door. There was a rustling noise from inside, then the door swung open to reveal a thin man in black. He stood aside and ushered her into the dimly lit room, before locking the door behind her. Turning, he held out a hand. “Your cloak, Narcissa.”

With trembling fingers, she undid the serpentine fastenings and handed the cloak over to him, watching as he draped it neatly over the back of a chair. “I can only assume, by your appearance, that you received my message.”

Narcissa nodded, looking down at the red silk and velvet dress that hugged her slim figure. The neckline was lower than she would normally have liked, but in this case she felt it better to look the part she intended to play. “I did,” she confirmed, pleased to hear that her voice was steady.

Snape moved to the center of the room, beneath a tarnished ceiling lamp that threw his features into sharp relief. “Come here,” he ordered, his voice calm and emotionless.

Narcissa obeyed, skirting the moth-eaten couch to stand inches from him. He was taller than she remembered, or perhaps it was only her fear that made him seem that way. She could feel his eyes on her, taking in the line of silver buttons that ran down her bodice to just below her navel and the slope of her bare shoulders as they led to her graceful neck. Her long blonde hair she had twisted up into a spiral at the back of her head, partly to keep it out of the way and partly because she knew it would make her more enticing. She inhaled sharply as she felt his hands come to rest on her shoulders. His skin was cold against hers, and he smelled of parchment and cheap soap. His fingers traced their way across her collarbones, one hand sliding down to caress her waist. She trembled, closing her eyes as he undid the top two buttons of her bodice, exposing the curves of her breasts. She thought she heard his breath catch in his throat. A moment later his lips met hers. He kissed her tenderly, with none of the hunger she would have expected, his arms twining around her and pulling her closer. She forced herself to remain still, counting backwards in her head to distract herself and prevent her from pulling away. Her heart ached for her husband, but it was the thought of her son's fate that finally made her return Snape’s kiss, her hands linking behind his back as she pressed her body against his. 

There was a sudden loud bang and she broke away from Snape’s embrace, looking around wildly. In the corner, newly revealed from where he’d been lurking behind a bookcase, stood a ratty looking man, twitching with fear as he looked at the pair of them. “Wormtail!” she shrieked, arms crossing over her chest to hide her body from view. She thought she saw a brief look of triumph flit across the intruder’s face as he shrank, his figure contorting as he transformed. A moment later he skittered out of sight, into a hole in one of the floorboards, narrowly avoiding the curse Snape hurled at him. 

Narcissa sank to her knees, numb with shock and horror. “He saw. Oh god…he saw.”

Tears came to her eyes and she began to rock back and forth, her body wracked with sobs. Snape pulled her to her feet and guided her to the couch, setting her down before conjuring a glass of brandy. “Here. Drink this.”

Narcissa shook her head, unable to speak. With a sigh, Snape set the brandy down on the end table and summoned a faded wool blanket from the next room. Settling himself beside her, he tucked the blanket around her shoulders, letting it drape over her to give her some semblance of modesty once more. “Listen to me, Narcissa. This isn’t the disaster you think it is.”

“He’ll…tell,” Narcissa choked out. “Everyone, he’ll tell everyone, and when Lucius hears, when Draco—“ she moaned. “I wish I were dead.”

“Narcissa, please,” Snape began, but Narcissa paid him no heed. “I wish I’d died, rather than face the shame of being, being—“ she glanced at Snape and away, her eyes bloodshot.

“Being mistress to a man like me?” Snape finished for her. His voice held no trace of anger, but she flinched as though he’d shouted. “But you aren’t my mistress, Narcissa. And I have no intention of letting you become my mistress.”

This statement shocked Narcissa enough for her to straighten up, staring at him. “You don’t—but tonight, the way you touched me…”

“Listen to me,” Snape said, and there was a new urgency in his voice. “Lucius is disgraced. It may be months before his release from Azkaban, and even then the Dark Lord is unlikely to trust him again.” Narcissa gave another sob, but Snape ignored it. “With Lucius out of favor, there is no one to protect you from the Dark Lord’s followers, many of whom would like nothing more than to see the Malfoy family humiliated.” He paused. Narcissa tilted her head in his direction, listening intently even as she wept. “I am the Dark Lord’s right hand,” Snape went on. “He relies on me, trusts me as much as he trusts anyone. Since the Ministry fiasco, I have risen even higher in his esteem. As the wife of a disgraced and imprisoned Death Eater, little stands between you and the twisted amusements of Yaxley or the Carrows. As the mistress of the Dark Lord’s favorite…”

He let the sentence hand, unfinished, in the air between them. Narcissa’s eyes widened, her lips slightly parted. Tears still glistened on her cheeks, but for the moment she no longer wept. “But you said you don’t want me,” she whispered uncertainly.

“I don’t have to want you,” Snape told her. “Wormtail saw enough to convince him of our tryst. The weak and sordid are always apt to believe that others stoop to their level. He will gossip, the news will spread – such lies travel fast. The Dark Lord will have heard the rumors by the end of the week. Once the tale of our affair reaches him, your safety will be all but assured.”

“Scandal…” Narcissa murmured, a deep ache settling in her chest. “My husband…my son.”

“Your son will be at school. I will ensure the gossip does not reach him there,” Snape promised. “As for Lucius, once he is released from Azkaban the three of us will have a private chat, away from his brothers in arms. If he cannot be convinced that his family’s safety is worth a few nasty remarks and sidelong looks, then he is not the man I think he is.”

“You arranged this,” Narcissa accused. Snape nodded. “Why? Why go to such lengths?”

An odd half-smile appeared on Snape’s face. “Do you honestly think I could face your son every day at Hogwarts, knowing I had taken advantage of his mother? Or worse, knowing I’d left his mother in danger with nowhere to turn?”

She reached out to him, her hand trembling, and he caught her hand in his, their fingers intertwining. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Snape rose to his feet, offering her his hand. “The bedroom is this way, through the second door,” he said, gesturing through a doorway on their left. “You can rest there for a few hours before returning to the manor. I’ll wake you at dawn.”

Narcissa took his outstretched hand and let him lead her to the doorway. She could feel his eyes on her as she made her way to the bedroom. Just as she reached it, she glanced back out of the corner of her eyes. Snape had crossed to the bookcase on the far wall, retrieving a small green volume before settling himself in an armchair. With the faintest of smiles, she turned back to the door and pushed it open.


	4. An Odd Choice of Woman

“That will do. You are dismissed.”

There was a sudden scraping of chairs against the black marble floors as the Death Eaters rose from the table. No one lingered long: it had been a trying meeting, and his temper had often escaped him. He let them scatter, watching contemptuously as Bellatrix pushed past her sister on the way out. The sight of the younger woman gave him pause, though. “Severus,” he called out, and a Death Eater several feet away turned to face him. “Remain with me.”

The Death Eater in question nodded and walked slowly to stand beside him. Those few wizards left in the hall scattered like roaches. He waited until all the others had gone before speaking. “Not your type, I would have thought.”

“My Lord?” the man beside him asked, his voice low and naturally quiet.

“I said, she isn’t your type, is she?” Lord Voldemort repeated. “Lucius’s wife.”

“Ah.” Severus said. “Forgive my confusion. I had not realized how quickly Wormtail had managed to tattle his little bit of sordid gossip.”

“He has never been one for keeping secrets,” said Voldemort, a hint of irony in his voice. “You do not deny, then, that you’ve taken her as a lover?”

“’Lover’ is a strong word,” Severus demurred. “But no. Wormtail did not lie.”

“Surely you can do better,” Voldemort commented, glancing at the door through which Narcissa Malfoy had disappeared. “She’s such a frigid little thing.”

“That’s rather the point, my Lord,” Severus answered. When Voldemort looked at him curiously, he inclined his head several inches. “My Lord, I do not require the creature comforts of other, lesser men. If I wanted a bedmate for an hour or two of sordid passion, I would find far easier prey outside these walls.” 

“Interesting,” said Voldemort, leaning back in his chair and taking in the man before him. The sallow-faced wizard betrayed no emotion, yet Voldemort could not help reaching out with his mind, trying to trap any stray thoughts Severus might let escape. “Wormtail’s story painted a different picture, one of a clandestine affair.”

He felt a quick pulse of anger from the man in front of him. Severus scowled. “Wormtail sees what he wishes to see. He is unable to think beyond the physical. Yes, I had Narcissa in my arms, well within my power should I have wished for a night of adulterous bliss. But my interest in Narcissa is a game of the mind, a far more stimulating pastime, for all the end result may be the same. It amuses me to coax warmth out of her, to bend her to my will without magic or force. She despises me, you see. She believes me to have usurped her husband’s position at your side. Yet she cannot help being drawn to me.” A hint of a smile crossed his lips, and Voldemort saw the ghostly memory of a woman in red, her eyes lowered, her clothing in disarray. “Saying just the right thing, then watching her struggle with herself, waiting for her resolve to fail, is more rewarding than a quick tumble in the sheets could ever be.”

“I see. And Wormtail?” Voldemort asked. He was rather enjoying this insight into the mind of his greatest spy. 

Severus grimaced. “Wormtail’s clumsy interference could have ruined everything.” Another memory reached Voldemort’s mind, this of a pair of blue, tear-filled eyes, and an image of the same red-garbed woman struggling to do up the buttons on her bodice. “It might be weeks before my influence over her is great enough for her to seek me out again.”

“And so you resume your manipulation,” Voldemort tapped his fingertips on the table. “You play a long, slow game, Severus.”

Severus bowed his head. “It amuses me, my Lord.”

“And you shall have your amusement.” Voldemort stood and walked forward to rest an icy hand on the wizard’s shoulder. “I shall ensure you are left alone to play cat-and-mouse with the Malfoy woman for as long as your heart desires.”

Severus bowed and turned to go. Voldemort waited until he was nearly to the door before speaking again. “Of course you know, Severus, even I can’t stop the rumors. Wormtail has probably squealed to half the wizards in the county by now.”

Severus looked back at him, his face showing no hint of discomfort. “I’m not concerned about gossip. As long as Narcissa is reserved for my use, people can say what they’d like.”


	5. The Potionsmaster

Rage filled his heart as he ran down the stairs toward the dungeon, ignoring the startled looks of those he passed, and the cold that always emanated from beneath the castle. His feet automatically led him to the door of the door of the potion’s classroom, but he skirted it, heading instead towards the Potionmaster’s office. Shifting his weight, he slammed his shoulder into the oak door, breaking it down with sheer force. Half dazed, he stumbled into the office, drawing his wand and pointing it at the sallow, greasy-haired man at the desk. “You bloody bastard!” he yelled, a blast of red light shooting from his wand and missing the man by inches.

“Mister Malfoy!” came a shocked cry. Snape was not alone. By the far wall stood Minerva McGonagall, looking utterly scandalized. The pair had obviously been in conference when he’d arrived. “What in heaven’s name do you think you’re doing?”

Malfoy was trembling with rage, his wand still pointed at Snape, so McGonagall cast a quick spell and he felt his wand fly out of his hand to skitter across the flagstone floor and land near the base of a cabinet. “Detention, Malfoy, and an explanation, at once!”

Before Malfoy could speak, Snape rose to his feet, his expression closed and unreadable. “If you please, Minerva, I would like to speak with Draco alone.”

McGonagall looked shocked. “You—I beg your pardon?”

“Draco and I have some business to attend to,” said Snape, “I assure you, I shall be quite safe.”

“Well, I…” McGonagall looked from Malfoy to Snape, obvious disapproval in her eyes. “Very well, Severus.” She walked to the door, which still swung forlornly on its damaged hinges. “Detention in my office this Saturday,” she called back over her shoulder. “That, at least, is not negotiable.” 

With a wave of her wand she repaired the damaged door and left, shutting it behind her and leaving the pair alone. 

As soon as the door clicked shut, Malfoy dived for his fallen wand. Snape, though, was faster, and Malfoy could only watch as his wand flew through the air to land neatly in Snape’s free hand. The Potionsmaster tucked Malfoy’s wand into the pocket of his robes, then pointed at the door with his own wand. “Muffliato,” he murmured, before casting several other charms at the walls and ceiling of the room. “Sit down,” he said, when he’d finished.

Malfoy ignored him, still glaring daggers from where he knelt. With a sigh, Snape conjured a plain wooden chair from thin air and Malfoy felt himself lifted by unseen hands until he sat upon it. “So,” said Snape quietly. “I see you’ve heard. Who told you, might I ask?”

Malfoy’s pale, pointed face twisted in hatred. “Crabbe,” he said at last.

“Of course,” said Snape, nodding. “He went home for the Christmas holiday, I suppose?” Malfoy nodded reluctantly. “And when he came back, he had quite the tale to tell.”

“Bastard,” Malfoy repeated, pure venom in his voice. “How dare you touch her? How dare you come near her, you filthy half-blood?”

Snape seemed entirely unmoved by Malfoy’s insults. “Say what you will about my family, but at least none of them ever graced the cells of Azkaban.”

Malfoy’s face burned. He tried to stand, but found he couldn’t. The chair seemed to have trapped him with invisible bonds. “You’ll regret that, _Severus _,” he spat.__

__“I doubt it,” said Snape, still as cool and collected as ever. “Listen to me,” he said, when Malfoy made as though to speak again, and Malfoy felt his throat constrict. “I wish to know exactly what Crabbe told you about me and Narcissa. I want every detail.”_ _

__The band around his throat lessened, and Malfoy coughed twice. “He said…the two of you, that you were…”_ _

__“Lovers, yes,” Snape prompted. “What else.”_ _

__Malfoy could barely speak, so choked was he with rage and hatred. “He said everyone knows. They whisper about it among themselves, whenever my mother leaves a room. Even the Dark Lord knows about it.” His teeth clenched. “My father is disgraced, my family a laughingstock, all because of you.”_ _

__Snape seemed oddly satisfied by his words. “They believe it, then.”_ _

__“How could you do such a thing?” Malfoy accused. “You said you would help me, said you were on my side, would help protect my family. My father was your friend. Is this how you repay him, the moment he loses favor? And my mother, did you ever stop to think of her reputation, of how she would be treated?”_ _

__Snape looked at him sharply. “Has anyone approached her, tried to accost her? Anyone else, I mean?”_ _

__Malfoy blinked in confusion. “No, I…I don’t know.”_ _

__Snape frowned. “Understand this, Draco. I have not engaged in an affair with your mother.” He held up a hand to cut off Malfoy’s protest. “I take full responsibility for damaging Narcissa’s reputation. But doing so served a purpose. Your father is temporarily unavailable to protect either of you. Narcissa was in great danger, and would still be, were it not for her connection to me.”_ _

__“Connection? Is that what you’re calling it now?” Malfoy sneered. “Don’t try to make yourself out to be a hero. You went after her for your own sordid pleasure. You knew she was vulnerable, that she had nowhere to turn, and you took advantage of her.” A sudden, unwanted memory of his mother entered his mind: the frightened, lost look she’d worn after his father’s arrest. He grimaced. “If I find out you hurt her, I swear I won’t stop until I kill you.”_ _

__“You appear not to have listened,” said Snape coolly. “I have no interest in your mother, except as concerns her protection.”_ _

__“Then protect her by staying away from her. She’s suffered enough already.”_ _

__Malfoy could feel Snape’s eyes on him, knew he was close to tears. He clenched his fists, determined not to cry. “Let me go. I have nothing more to say to you.”_ _

__To his shock, Snape immediately lifted the enchantment of the chair, and Malfoy rose slowly to his feet. Snape retrieved the confiscated wand from inside his robes and tossed it lightly to Malfoy. “I understand your resentment,” he said quietly. “I would not expect you to appreciate the delicacy of your mother’s position in the Dark Lord’s organization. But I would ask one favor. If you would please refrain from telling Narcissa what you have learned, I would be grateful.”_ _

__Malfoy’s look was full of scorn. “Do you honestly think I would shame her like that?”_ _

__“No, I suppose not.” Snape’s face had resumed its blank mask. “Very well, then. I shall speak to Minerva about your detention later this evening. I’m certain you have better things to do than sorting through files or assisting Mr. Filch.”_ _

__Malfoy did not even grace Snape’s words with a response as he walked stiffly to the door, leaving it open as he made his way toward the dungeon stairs. He did not look back, or he would have seen Snape watching him with a curious expression on his face, rolling his wand back and forth between his long fingers._ _


	6. Lucius Returns

“For both our sakes, calm yourself.”

Snape stood in an alcove outside the drawing room of Malfoy Manor. Beside him, her face white and drawn, stood Narcissa Malfoy. “How can I be calm at a time like this?” she hissed. “You know Lucius. He’ll kill me when he hears what people are saying.”

“Then I will speak with him before he can become overwhelmed by gossip and tall tales,” Snape assured her, his voice barely above a whisper. “Lucius may be a jealous man, but he is not a foolish one. Now, come sit down. We mustn’t make the Dark Lord wait.”

Resting a firm hand on Narcissa’s shoulder, he ushered the woman into the drawing room, leading her to her seat midway along the table before taking his own place at the Dark Lord’s right hand. Draco was already seated, he noticed, occupying the place Lucius had once claimed. He wondered where the newly-released prisoners would sit. As it was, the table appeared nearly full. The Dark Lord chose that moment to rise, and he turned his attention to the skeletal wizard at his side. “My devoted friends,” the Dark Lord began. “For nearly a year, our numbers have been diminished, while our brethren languished in Azkaban. It would be impossible to say that they did not deserve their fate, for their failure at the Ministry endangered our entire cause. The fault was partially mine: I placed my faith in the wrong people, chose the wrong leadership.” Snape saw Draco tense, but did not shift his attention from the Dark Lord. “Even so, it is time to reunite with our long-lost comrades. Our next task requires strength in numbers, therefore a reprieve, however temporary, must be granted. Let us welcome our brethren back into the fold.”

He gestured with his wand and the door to the drawing room swung open to reveal a group of eight thin, ragged men in the coarse uniforms of prisoners. They made their way cautiously into the room, some looking cowed, others downright frightened. “It appears we will need more space,” said the Dark Lord conversationally. With another flick of his wand the table began to lengthen, the polished walnut stretching to cover an extra six feet. Chairs appeared, plain and unadorned, entirely unlike the velvet and teak chairs upon which the others sat. It was clear that, despite their newfound freedom, the prisoners were not yet considered equal. “Sit, Dolohov,” the Dark Lord instructed. “And you, Travers.”

The two Death Eaters mentioned moved slowly to the chairs, and the others followed suit. In the far corner Snape could see a familiar face beneath a head of greasy blonde hair. The Dark Lord followed Snape’s gaze and smiled. “Lucius,” he called, and the blonde man froze with his hand on the final chair. “My dear Lucius, surely you do not wish to sit there, so far from your loving family? Here.” He gestured, and a chair appeared between Narcissa and Draco. “Join your wife and son. I’m certain you must have missed them.”

Several of the Death Eaters hid nasty smiles as they watched Lucius walk carefully up the line of chairs until he could take the offered seat. Snape saw that both Draco and Narcissa looked petrified. “There,” said the Dark Lord, once Lucius had settled himself. “What a charming family picture you make.” There was a snicker from one of the Death Eaters. Draco appeared as though he might be sick. “Let it not be said that the Dark Lord was not merciful to those who had disappointed him. I have returned your family to you, Lucius. Are you not pleased?”

“Of course, my Lord,” Lucius replied, his voice hoarse and nearly unrecognizable. “Thank you, my Lord.”

Snape noticed that, despite Lucius’s words, he had not once looked at either his wife or son, but sat woodenly, staring straight ahead. Narcissa leaned ever so slightly away from him as though expecting him to explode. The Dark Lord lowered himself into his chair once more, resting his wand on the table before him. “Now we are complete, as we were before. It is time to contemplate our future, our way forward, and answer the tiresome question for what one can only hope to be the final time: what is to be done about Harry Potter? Yaxley,” he turned to his left, addressing a wizard three seats down. “You have information from the Ministry regarding the boy’s protection?”

“I do, my Lord,” said Yaxley at once. “They are linked to the trace, which will break when he reaches his seventeenth birthday.”

“A fact of which I am very much aware,” the Dark Lord replied lazily, and Yaxley winced. “My question is, what will the Order choose to do when the protective charms over the boy’s home finally break?” He turned to Snape, a smile curving his bloodless lips. “Severus, perhaps you would be best suited to discover the Order’s plans for me. Though you may no longer be a member of their number, you are best equipped to predict their movements. I entrust this task to you, my most faithful servant.”

Snape bowed his head, noticing the murmurs among the other Death Eaters and feeling Bellatrix’s glare burning into his forehead. “I would be honored, my Lord.”

The meeting continued for nearly half an hour, during which time the Dark Lord handed out assignments pertaining to the Ministry and various high-ranking members to be placed under the Imperius curse. In all, fourteen assignments were given. Not one task was given to a newly freed prisoner. For all his talk of a reunited army, the Dark Lord was clearly unwilling to trust those who had failed him the year before. The meeting adjourned, and chairs scraped against the marble floor. The Dark Lord retrieved his wand from the table and turned to Snape. “My apologies, Severus, for not providing you with more warning. But I trust that by now you’ve finished with her?”

He pointed lazily and Snape saw Narcissa hurrying toward the drawing room door. She shot one wide-eyed look back at him before disappearing behind a pair of larger wizards. “Certainly I am finished,” Snape said calmly. “I appreciate your generosity in allowing me to toy with her without interruption.”

“It was the least I could do, for someone as adept and loyal as yourself.” He looked around. “I must say, I find it unlikely that Lucius will be so understanding of your little games. No doubt he’s seeking her out as we speak. He certainly left quickly enough.” 

“Perhaps it would be wise, for the sake of peace in the house, if I were to speak privately with Lucius,” Snape suggested. “We don’t need a murder.”

“You think he’d kill her?” asked the Dark Lord in a tone of mild interest. 

“I think any man who learns his wife has been unfaithful to him is likely to react violently. Particularly a man just out of Azkaban.” 

The Dark Lord inclined his head the slightest bit. “Very well. Find him and tame his anger, if you can. But if not, remember, the woman is hardly a loss to us.”

Snape bowed. “Thank you, my Lord.” Turning, he glided from the room, every sense alert for signs of Lucius or Narcissa. He knew she must have panicked the moment Lucius had sat beside her. No doubt she’d taken refuge in some obscure study or library. Lucius was his greater concern. If he could explain things to Lucius before the man found Narcissa’s hiding place, it would save them all a great deal of grief.

He’d reached the top of the great staircase and turned left to continue down the hall toward the family residency when he felt the whisper of a spell pass over him. Reflex kicked in and he leapt aside into an alcove. A split second later, a flash of bright flame erupted in the spot where he had been. Wand raised, he stepped out of the alcove to face his opponent.

Several yards away, her arms crossed over her chest and her dark eyes narrowed in resentment, Bellatrix stood leaning on the plinth of a large statue. The end of her curved wand glowed as though the instrument itself wanted to attack him. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Bellatrix?” he asked coolly, as though she had not just tried to immolate him in the middle of the hall.

Bellatrix glared at him. “’Most faithful servant’? You?” She laughed mirthlessly. “Does the Dark Lord consider your years of groveling at the feet of Albus Dumbledore the act of a faithful servant? Does he know your ‘heroism’ in finishing off Dumbledore was less an act of devotion than making good on a belated promise you made to my whore of a sister?”

“He knows,” Snape replied evenly, ignoring the insult to Narcissa. “He feels my time ‘groveling’, as you put it, was well spent. As for your sister, can you possibly imagine that he’s been ignorant, all this time, of my vow and of my relationship with her?”

Bellatrix twitched at the word “relationship”, a muscle in her neck going taut. “Your ‘relationship’ with her ends tonight. Lucius is back.” She grinned nastily. “I look forward to seeing how much remains of you after he hears the sordid use you’ve made of his wife.” 

“So long as he doesn’t give Narcissa the same treatment, I will gladly take my fair share of his wrath.”

Bellatrix’s smile vanished, her expression of surprise quickly transforming to deep and utter loathing. “I warn you, Snape,” she hissed. “If he so much as lays a hand on her, if she’s hurt in any way because of her association with you, I will hunt you down and cut you into shreds so small even the rats won’t bother with your remains.”

“If you’ve quite finished,” said Snape, feeling impatient now. “I’d like nothing more than to spend another hour listening to your most creative death threats, but I have business to attend to. As it concerns the protection of your sister, I must ask you to excuse me.” Ignoring her still-drawn wand, he walked swiftly down the hall and was past her before she had time to point the wand at him. “By all means, continue forming plans for my demise,” he called back glibly, his senses alive and tingling despite his relaxed tone. A second later he’d rounded a corner, leaving her speechless behind him. 

Away from Bellatrix, he picked up the pace once more. His run-in with the witch had driven home just how much danger Narcissa was truly in. He had not lied and insinuated, had not allowed himself to become the subject of smutty rumors for nearly a year, only to watch Narcissa die at the hands of her own husband. Lucius had to find out now, before it was too late. 

He turned another corner, passing rows of identical oak doors. A quick charm allowed him to check whether any of the rooms he passed were occupied, but none were. Then, as he reached the end of the hall, he felt his heart stop as he heard a woman’s muffled voice cry out. He broke into a run, following the sound of the cry until he reached a dead end. The door at the far side of the corridor was open several inches, and from within he could hear the sound of voices. He inched silently forward until he could peer through the crack in the door, his heart in his throat. 

In the center of the room stood Lucius Malfoy, his back to the door. His head was bent over, his matted blonde hair falling over his shoulders in a greasy mass. He was holding something to his chest, the muscles in his back straining against his tattered shirt as he clutched it. “Narcissa,” Lucius croaked.

Snape’s eyes widened as he realized what it was Lucius held. Narcissa’s pale arms rested feebly on her husband’s shoulders, barely visible from Snape’s vantage point. Now that he was aware of her presence, he recognized the soft gasps of her breathing. “Oh, Lucius,” she said, voice choked with tears. “I’m sorry, Lucius, I never meant for things to happen this way.”

“Shh,” Lucius murmured, one hand stroking her hair, the other still pulling her flush against his body. “It doesn’t matter now. None of it matters.”

“But Lucius,” Narcissa protested faintly. “What people are saying, the damage to our family’s honor and—“

“Are you alright?” Lucius interrupted, taking a step back and releasing her from his iron hold. “Are you hurt?”

“What?” Narcissa asked blankly. “I—no, I suppose not.”

Lucius took another step away, surveying his wife from head to toe. Narcissa, for her part, looked bewildered and somewhat apprehensive. Lucius slowly circled her, taking in every angle of Narcissa’s delicate body. Snape could have sworn Lucius’s eyes flickered in his direction as well, and quickly drew back, but if Lucius had seen him spying he showed no sign of it. His circle complete, Lucius drew Narcissa once more into a close embrace, this one more tender than the last had been. For her part, Narcissa clung to him, her hands linked behind his back. He kissed her softly before letting go. “Is Draco alright?” Narcissa nodded. “Bring him to me. I wish to see him.”

Snape prepared to hide, but Narcissa turned and left through a door on the opposite side of the room. There was a moment’s silence. “You can come in, Severus,” said Lucius quietly. 

Snape laid a palm against the door and pushed it inward, walking calmly to stand several yards from Lucius. The other wizard still had his back to Snape, and was surveying the bookcase on the far wall as though fascinated by it. “You heard,” he stated simply.

“Lucius, I know what people are saying, what the rumors are,” Snape began, but Lucius shook his head firmly. 

“I have no wish to know the things that went on between the two of you,” Lucius said. “I have only one question.” He turned to look at Snape, his eyes burning with an intensity they’d never had before Azkaban. “Did he hurt her?” Lucius asked, his voice raw with emotion. “After my mistake, my failure, did the Dark Lord punish her?”

Slowly, Snape shook his head. “No,” he replied. “She was spared.”

Lucius exhaled a long breath. “Thank you,” he whispered. “That is all I needed to hear.” He turned away, his back to Snape once more, his attention on the door through which Narcissa had disappeared. “I would like to see my son alone, when he arrives.”

Snape nodded and turned, returning to the still-open door from whence he’d come. As he reached it, he looked back. Lucius had his hands over his face, his shoulders sagging inward. For the first time, he looked as broken as the other released prisoners, yet Snape knew it was relief, not hardship, that had cracked his composure. For all his pride and elegance, Lucius was still a husband and a father, capable of deep and lasting love for his family. The thought made Snape remember, with the sharp pang of recent loss, how often Dumbledore would expound upon the infinite power of love. He’d often found Dumbledore’s speeches tiring, repetitive, the fantasies of an idealistic old man. He wondered what Dumbledore would say now, though, if the wizard had seen how Lucius held Narcissa close, seen how easily Lucius had glossed over any sins his wife might have committed in favor of preserving their bond. 

There was something to be said for Dumbledore’s theories, Snape decided as he closed the door behind him. Even in the darkest of places, love could still eke out a meager existence.


End file.
